Make Out and Tell
by The JohhnyMcKilt Productions
Summary: [OneShot]The title says it all. Oliver is back from his one week date with Bryan in Russia...and Enrique wants to know all about it


A/N: My ancient 1995 laptop has just died…I am mourning for her loss. Here is the much awaited **Make Out and Tell** for y'all…enjoy!xD

**Make Out and Tell**

_**OneShot**_

"OLIVER!"

The addressed frowned for a moment, searching for the voice who called him before he blanched when he saw a speeding yellow torpedo heading straight for him.

"AaAaAaAaAh!!" he yelled prematurely, bracing for himself for a bone-crushing hug courtesy of his best friend, Enrique, but it never came. The blonde had stopped dead inches from him, face serious, like an inspector's when he examines a corpse.

The Les Desmond heir just arrived at the airport, having gone to Russia for a week to spend time with his very voluptuous boyfriend. They have been together for a month yet were still quite reserved…or rather, shy…toward each other.

"Uh…Enrique?" Oliver asked as the Italian circled him slowly, stroking a non-existent moustache on his chin.

"Wait a minute," he said, his serious manner was barely suppressing a strong desire to laugh. "Your coat is quite rumpled, you're not wearing your scarf, your hair has less body then when you usually leave it unwashed for five days, your eye bags are much more evident, your cheeks are flushed…and…!"

The younger greenette gasped as Enrique suddenly pointed to a spot on his pants just below a belt loop. "…is that a tell-tale stain I see?"

"That's quite odd…" the blonde resumed the declaration of his observations while pacing back and forth. "Russia's quite cold and therefore you wouldn't require a bath on a daily basis. Knowing you, you'd make sure what you'd wear everyday is pressed, hanged and aired. And given such climate, you'd need your beauty sleep! This stain on your pants is not water or else it leaves the cloth damp with no mark. It isn't any drink either because when the liquid evaporates, its resin can be easily scrapped off with a nail. Nor is it soil, because apart from it not being the right color, a soil stain that high would require far too strenuous activity for a simple, harmless, peaceful date…unless…"

Summer blue eyes narrowed. The chef took a step back.

"Unless you haven't been having a simple, harmless, peaceful date!"

"W-what?"

Enrique dropped his façade. "Aw c'mon Oliver! You DARE deny solid evidence? That stain is dried semen…and you PROMISED to tell!"

The French boy gave a nervous laugh as the pair went to the waiting limo, luggage in tow. "Tell what?"

"About how airplane food sucks." This was answered with a 'huh' and the blonde frowned. "What else, silly? Was your much awaited date consummated?"

Oliver blushed beautifully. "All right, you caught me…" he smiled. "I was going to tell you about it anyway but not in my car…or in the mansion."

"Then where?"

"Luxembourg Park…there we won't be overheard."

The Italian shook with excitement, very much honored to be the first person to hear such secrets.

--

"Did he start or did you start?"

"What?" Oliver exclaimed as he and his best friend leisurely took a stroll amongst neatly trimmed rows of trees and pleasantly tinkling fountains. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious on for sure…" Enrique replied. "What's wrong with asking it anyway? I mean, c'mon…there has GOT to be a start. He can't have just pinned you to a wall after dinner and ravished—" he read the expression on the greenette's face and he broke into a disbelieving smile. "He didn't."

"Well…it wasn't a wall and it wasn't after dinner."

"Was it in a car after breakfast?" the blonde guessed.

"No."

"On the kitchen counter during a midnight snack?"

"We don't eat between meals."

"On the couch after lunch!"

The Frenchman sighed. "'After dinner' was close enough," and he giggled as realization dawned on the other boy's face.

"It was…on the bed…during dinner! You two didn't have dinner! Technically speaking of course…"

Oliver nodded. "Very good Enri—"

"So, who was drunk?"

"What?"

It was the Italian's turn to sigh. "Signor, my sources tell me the specie of male you shared more than one night with is one tough cookie. It's quite a challenge to make him laugh, much more get under the sheets."

"Enri love, I don't need to get him drunk so he could get jiggy with it. Besides, he never gets drunk."

"Ah! Looks like you've met your match, Oliver! How far do you fare with vodka? Did you spot any good bottles?"

"You're certainly right about me meeting my match, " _l'expert d'vin_ said with a slight air of dejection. "I fare fairly far for a first timer in vodka as much as he does for wine anyway, and even if it isn't their staple drink there…I found a couple of good names."

Enrique nodded. "That's a relief. Because when I go there I want some heat with my cold shrimp cocktail," he smiled dreamily for a few moments before returning to the topic, much to the young chef's dismay. "How was he?"

"In where? Getting drunk?"

"No…in bed. Seeing as you aren't complaining of any designer tops ripped in half, I suppose he was careful…or he knew how much your things cost."

"Oh he's very nimble with his fingers, mon cherie…" the greenette answered brightly. "But I'm easy to strip. Without my beret and coat it's just…slide up and slide down."

"Was he generous or did he give a tease?"

"He was generous, he gave me my turn…but damn it was hard work!"

The blonde frowned. "Did you start up or down?"

"Up of course. Taking off the fur coat was easy, but then he had a shirt under a shirt under a shirt of which I'm not sure if it was a shirt at all!"

"…When you got there, was it a poodle or a shi tzu?"

"Non, non, mon amis! It was a chihuahua!" Oliver beamed at Enrique's gasp of surprise. "I know! It's surprising, isn't it?"

"Was it mowed?" asked the Italian in a hushed tone.

"It wasn't mowed!"

"Aw man that's sweet, Oli! How was the down part?"

"Ugh!" the perfectionist exclaimed. "The outer pair of pants was connected to his boots. AND he had shoes and ANOTHER pair of pants when I took them off! I lost count of the number of pants he had on after that and I had a hairpin ready in case his horse was padlocked! But it wasn't…"

"How were the cliffs? Apple or orange?"

"Definitely apple…green apple."

"Wow!" the blonde remarked. "Red papaya or green papaya?"

The answer was marked as obvious with a casual wave of the French boy's hand. "Green papaya."

There was a pause as the elder of the two boys thought. "Hm. A rival in drinking AND in healthy skin—"

"Oh I don't care. A lot of people have healthier skin than me."

"But what about the figure?"

"The figure…" the greenette echoed as he tried to recall. "Perfect."

"That's pretty vague, Oliver. What is boxed? Bumpy? Firm or curvy like yours?"

"It was firm," the boy replied, settling for the suggestion.

The colorful pair had reached the Arc d' Triumph and were headed to a favorite sidewalk care to have light drinks.

"So, where were you?" Enrique asked as he and his best friend found a satisfactory table quite isolated from the others.

"What do you mean?" the young pro-chef asked, taking a sip at his towering sundae smoothie.

"Were you three squared or divisible by two?"

The Frenchman frowned and refused to dignify the question with an answer. The blonde smiled deviously.

"I can't imagine you being THAT, Oliver." he said.

"Being what?" the greenette replied. "Sky high or down under?"

"I concluded you were down under."

Oliver tsk-ed and rolled his eyes. "If you must know, we took turns. I was divisible by two first…what?" he ended asking as two bright summer blue eyes stared at lavender intently.

"How was it?"

"You want every teeny bit of gory detail?"

"Not really…gory?"

"It's just an exaggeration."

"Darn." Enrique moodily stabbed his cheesecake with a fork. "I thought you had something."

"Like what?" came the suspicious reply.

It was answered by a shrug. "Heavy artillery, velvet-lined cuffs, a bowl of fruit, your sugar-loaded pastries…a chicken outfit, That sort."

"Enrique! We haven't reached THAT level yet. Give us some months and I'll be borrowing Robert's mace, okay?"

"Fine, fine. How was his style?"

The greenette took a long thoughtful sip. "He seemed…experienced."

"Y'mean you weren't his first? I'm so sorry to hear that, Oli…"

"Oh it's all right with me. I mean, I'm from the same banana too…hell, you know it. So does Johnny, Robert, Rei, Tyson—"

"I get it! You're catching up with me! But…this was the first time you were committed? For both of you…"

Oliver nodded solemnly and the two are in silence for some minutes.

"How was his style?" Enrique asked again, having not exactly gotten an answer earlier.

The French boy pouted as he sucked at his straw and the blonde laughed.

"Okay, think of a word to describe it instead."

"It takes more than one word to describe it…"

"Three then."

"Not enough."

"Ten."

"Too much!"

"Five words…then we'll tackle each one."

"Hm…"

The two best friends paid their bill and resumed their stroll, heading to the direction of the Louver.

"So, what're your five words?" Enrique asked in somewhat hushed tones as they were inside the great museum.

"First of all, he's fast…" Oliver replied in the same pitch, idly examining the paintings they passed by.

"Cool. North or South?"

"Depends on which Pole you're looking at."

"I'm guessing only two specific places, on at the North and one at the South. It he frisky in both?"

The Frenchman's nose scrunched up in though. "Not exactly frisky…harsh. And that's my second word."

"I'm not surprised," the blonde said casually. "But then again how harsh? Bloody?"

"Not that. Friction-heat type."

"Friction? How can there be fr—"

"Which brings me to my next word…sensual."

The Italian was staring at him with his mouth agape in shock. "Wet or dry?"

"Dry."

The elder Majestic resisted the urge to pound his fist on a vase's pedestal. "Damn! Your night was hardcore, Oliver!"

"Keep your voice down, Enrique." Bright grass colored hair hid a beet red face.

"Did it hurt?" the playboy asked, intrigued.

"Oh not at all. Having the skin of your negadenegadebaba is very pleasant," was the sarcastic reply. "Of course it hurt. Like hell in fact…but I guess the pain was par for the course."

"What's your next word?"

There was a repressed smile. "He's…loud."

"Loud?" came the puzzled reply. "I never thought of him as loud in bed. Where again did you guys bake cake?"

"In bed during dinner."

"Where was the bed? At the neighbor's house?" Enrique asked, getting back at the other boy with his own sarcasm. (Johnny was rubbing off both of them)

"No. In the Hiwatari Estate where the rest of the Blitzkrieg are staying after moving out of the Abbey."

"Ah. So was he…uh…public loud or private loud?"

"I don't get it."

"…Earth Shake or Stroblitz?"

Oliver grinned. "Stroblitz. We won't be THAT stupid to make it an Earth Shake. We'd end up having an orgy…and thanks for using my attack on such an analogy." His grin turned to a slight frown. "I shall never look at it the same way agan."

"Glad to be of service, Oli…your last word?"

This was given much thought. "Deep. That's the perfect word."

"Down there?"

"Very down there…"

"That's sweet! It was actually in…I mean, wow! A truly amazing feat, my friend."

"It's no big deal…"

"No big deal? How could you say that? Who's gun did you see shoot you? You got him in bed! It was good ol' fashioned screwing. His ORGAN was actually IN you and you say it's no big deal?!"

The smile on the green-haired teen's face clearly told the Roman that they weren't looking at the statement from the same point of view.

"It really isn't a BIG deal. Sure his organ was in me but it didn't feel like an organ…"

"Wha--?"

"…it felt a bit more like a flute."

The drift was easily caught. "A piccolo?"

"No!"

"A whistle."

"No."

"A tuba?"

"No."

"A trombone?"

"No!"

"A French horn!"

"Godamnnit Enrique! What letter of FLUTE don't you understand?"

"I see the term flute as a generalization for brass and woodwinds."

"That's just stupid. It was a flute!" the young chef said sternly, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"The one you play sideways?"

"Yes!"

"Did he play it sideways too?"

"No." and the pair erupted in derisive giggles.

"Okay, fine." Enrique began after recovering, "How was your turn as the nine? Five words again."

"Aw man, I'd have to say he was quite generous!"

"Again?"

"Do you think he'd be the type to be down under?"

"To be honest, I'd say yes…"

Oliver laughed and was shushed. "_Merdi alors!_ He'll KILL you if ever he hears you say that."

"How was he generous? Pray tell…"

"That's it! The mere agreement to take turns is a manifestation of generosity…"

"Maybe it's part of your commitment."

"Maybe," the Frenchman agreed. "And he was quite accommodating too…that's my second word."

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Are you describing your lover or a 5-star hotel?"

"I can't think of a suitable word for it. Even if it was my turn he was still doing things to make me feel good…which brings me to my next word, responsive."

"Oh? Well you DO know where to make men light up—"

"Not in that sense. It was amusing really; I found out he was extremely ticklish."

"Tick-what?" the other boy asked, refusing to hear right.

The younger Majestic was smiling. "Ticklish only under certain circumstances."

"That might be the reason why he's got a lot of pants on."

"…ticklish at the oddest spots too."

"Sweet! Where?"

"One's at the neck, and oh!" the greenette ejaculated loudly just as they passed by one of Da Vinci's thirteen sunflowers, making quite a large number of people look at his funny. "What a neck he's got. It was so dreamy…creamy…man, if I were a vampire I could've killed him!"

"OoOoOokay…where else?"

"Twin caves a bit above the blades. I had fun there…it was like eating the seed of a mango."

"Beef curry?" his best friend asked bluntly.

"No you jerk. A Marks and Spencer cologne."

"Flower of fruit?"

"Flower?"

"I'm guessing…lavender?"

The chef nodded. "True to the color."

"That's adorable. How did he respond?"

The question was met with a shrug.

"Epileptic?" the Italian prompted.

"No…"

"Like he was having a seizure?"

"I don't know how to put it…it's like…like a cow—"

"Like a cow?!"

"Shush Enri! I was going to say he was like the muscle of a freshly slaughtered cow…"

"Oh…it twitches then?"

"Oui, mon amis. But those responses were involuntary…my next word is surprising."

"Why? Was the snake moving on its own?"

Oliver frowned. "That's just it…it wasn't."

"WHAT?" Enrique was appalled.

"When I was giving it to him he just wasn't reacting! When I stopped THAT's when he blew me off course. I had to remind him who was captain."

The blonde was laughing. "That's precious. I could just imagine the look on your face…"

"He was practically sadistic! And that's my last word."

"He was KEEPING himself from you? Harsh!"

"I know! I tried everything! Oral…written…you name it, monsieur!"

"The Eiffel Tower was still the Leaning Tower of Pisa, huh?"

"Exactly! Wait…thank you again Enrique for using such an analogy with the Eiffel Tower…"

"It's true."

The greenette sighed. "It DID take quite a while before the Leaning Tower became the Eiffel Tower. It involved ringing the bells…"

The blonde ogled. "You rung the bells?"

"With a rope…"

"Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?"

"We're still traditional aren't we? No machinery yet…"

His best friend was looking at him with a disturbingly huge smile.

"What?" asked the young chef.

"What did the dingalingaling dingdong look like?"

"AI! IT WAS CuUuUuTE!" he squealed shrilly, turning red.

"Hold that thought. Let's get out of here first…" the Italian suggested in a low voice as they tried not to laugh out loud in front of the Venus de Milo for fear of the public misinterpreting their reactions.

Once outside, the grass-haired boy was fangirling.

"It was absolutely adorable!" he was saying, much to the playboy's amusement. "When I saw it…it was just lying there…in its pretty bed of flowers. It was amazing! Oh, it was beautiful Enrique! I told him it was a shame that I wasn't the first to erect my flag on the place but he said that the Tower was never fully climbed! Never chartered…and Mon Dieux I was overjoyed! You should've seen it!"

"I don't think I would've wanted to." Enrique smiled as the two rich teens took their stroll to the direction of the Eiffel Tower in order to behold Paris in all its glory.

"I'm happy for you, Oliver. Did you drink from the fountain of youth or did you add some of your own youth to it?"

"I did both actually," Oliver replied with a brilliant flush. "It was like eating a cheesedog with less hotdog and more cheese."

"Was it really a cheesedog?" he asked as they stepped into the elevator that would take them to the top.

"Well…it was more like…sour gummy worms."

"I love those…" came the absent-minded reply. "I wonder if he thought YOUR green gun was like a flute."

"Oh yeah. I should've asked him. I could've also compared who's been in business longer."

"Mm…I don't know. It won't really matter how long you've been in business if you don't have that many clients."

"How many clients have YOU had, Enri?"

"More than you, that's for sure…and," the blonde's expression turned uneasy. "Do you think your boyfriend's approach would be the same for the rest of his kind?"

"What? Why? What's up?"

"…as odd as it sounds, I'm nervous about my first consummated date with MY boyfriend."

Enrique, too, was going out with a certain blue-haired Russian for commitment. Oliver looked at him kindly.

"You're taking notes?" the French boy asked.

"Just some tips."

"Relax, Enrique. You two'll be fine. Just be yourself and have fun with him."

The blonde sighed. "Your night sounded perfect."

"So it was…and so shall be yours."

The elder Majestic said nothing and contemplated the breath-taking view.

"When I come home from the airport, Oliver, promise me you'll be there."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world…besides, it'll be YOUR turn to make out and tell." Oliver answered with a smile.

**END**

A/N: Want more? What about hearing Enrique's night? Tell me all your blim-blams when y'all review! enjoy!xD and ciAo…


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